


such a shame (innocence is futile)

by anyabarnes



Series: whumptober 2019! [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Natasha Romanov, Red Room (Marvel), Shaky Hands, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyabarnes/pseuds/anyabarnes
Summary: Natasha's hands haven't stopped shaking in a long time.





	such a shame (innocence is futile)

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: SHAKY HANDS
> 
> my first day of whumptober woohoo!!!
> 
> tw: eating disorders, murder, brief violence, the red room
> 
> please click out of this fic fi you aren't in a good mindset. this fic will always be here to come back to later on, so please, please, please put yourself before my silly little fanfiction.

Natasha’s hands haven’t stopped shaking in a long time. As she tries to rip the bag of tea open, once, twice, her fingers keep slipping, the plastic wrapper shaking softly. Her face screws up in concentration, gripping the tea bag with all her might. 

It slips right between her fingers and falls on the floor. 

\- 

She was six-maybe seven-the first time anyone ever pointed it out to her. She sat in the pristine hall, walls shiny with the fear and despair that coated the room, her food laid out neatly in front of her. She remembers it exactly. 12 green beans, ¼ cup mashed potatoes, and 50 grams of chicken, no skin. 162 calories _ exactly. _

She didn’t learn what that word meant until she was eight. 

“You may begin eating,” the Mistress’ voice rang out through the hall. The sound of clinking filled the air as 28 girls started eating, all at once. Natasha stabbed her fork into 4 of the green beans at once, shoveling them into her mouth. She resisted the urge to moan; she hadn’t gotten breakfast because she failed her routines. She dug her fork into the mashed potatoes, taking half of them in one bite. The texture was thick in her mouth, perfectly creamy and delicious- 

“You eat too fast,” Svetlana pointed the end of her fork at Natasha accusingly. “Everyone says so, but no one actually wants to tell you because they all pity you.” Natasha stopped chewing, the bite of mashed potatoes suddenly pounds heavier. She tried to swallow, but it felt like a brick is sitting in her throat. 

“Even Mistress says so, and she’s always right. She says you eat like a _ pig_ ,” Svetlana stuck her nose up in the air, a small smirk on her lips. “And, if you keep eating like that, you’re going to turn into a pig. Mistress says no one will ever want a little piggie that eats like you do.” The blonde girl shrugged, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. Svetlana picked up her fork and stabbed into one of the green beans daintily, biting it in half and chewing slowly. 

Natasha looked down at her plate, suddenly very _ not_ hungry. She picked up a piece of the chicken, pulling it apart with her knife. She set it in her mouth softly. It tasted like rubber. She chewed, barely moving her jaw. When she looked back up, Mistress was watching her, a small smirk on her lips. 

Natasha set her fork back down. 

She_ was not_ going to be a pig. 

Never. 

\- 

She fills the kettle with water, leaning it against the edge of the sink to try and stop the water from going everywhere. Her hands were already covered in it. She takes her thumb off of the lid, letting it snap down. 

The loud noise startles her. 

She places the heavy piece of metal-she has to carry it with two hands because it’s just_ too heavy_ \- on to the stovetop. The front of her shirt is a dark red, covered in all the water that hadn’t made it into the kettle. She pushes down on the dial, setting the temperature to _ 10-high. _

She rubs her hands together over the kettle, hoping some of the steam will warm her freezing fingers. 

It never does. 

\- 

She was eight the next time it happens. She lifted her arm up into the third position, tilting her chin up just a tad, and taking a deep breath in. She looked straight ahead, eyes glazed over and unfocused. The sound of Mistress’ heels clicked through the room, echoing off the old wood paneling. Natasha sucked another breath in, pulling her shoulder’s back. 

The clicking stopped right next to her, and shadow falling over Natasha’s slender frame. The Mistress’ let out a snort, reaching her hand out. 

“_ Otdykh, _ girls.” The girls around Natasha let the arms down smoothly, twisting their feet back into the first position. Natasha let out her breath, dropping her arm. “Not you, Natalia. Turn here, girls. I want to show you something.” 

Natasha shifted her feet under the gaze of 27 girls. The Mistress turned to her, raking her eyes over Natasha’s leotard-clad body. Mistress reached forward, slicking a hair back into Natasha’s bun. 

“This,” she snarled, pinching the fat on the side of Natasha’s hips, “is _ not_ acceptable. Look at this, this_ fat. _ This will never get you through the program. This will only slow you down, making you weaker and a target. This, _ this,_ is _ disgusting._ ” Mistress grabbed a handful of Natasha’s stomach, crushing it in her hand. Shet let it go, pinching Natasha’s cheeks. 

The girls around her laughed, high, pitchy noises that burned a hole in Natasha’s head. She flushed a deep red, still feeling the Mistresses hand gripping her fat. _ Fat_ . She burned a deeper red, the tips of her ears burning. 

_ Fat_ . 

“Go get changed and head to lunch girls,” the Mistress motioned to the door. “Don’t dawdle.” Natasha lowers her hands, sucking in her stomach and sneaking around the edge of the Mistress. A tight hand wraps around her arm. 

“_ Not_ you. You don’t _ need _ anymore lunch. Practice your positions until you can actually do them_ properly. _ Then we’ll see if you deserve lunch,” Mistress spat, turning on her heel and leaving the room. The door slammed heavily behind her. 

Natasha reached her hand up, turning around to look in the mirror. Maybe she_ was _ fat. She gripped her stomach tightly, seeing how much of it she could pull. _ Too _ much. She felt sick. 

She never wanted to be able to grip her stomach like that._ Ever._

\- 

Natasha runs her hands through her hair, cursing as she pulls strands out from between her fingers. The water beside her is rumbling, a loud, steady hum, but it’s not yet boiling. Natasha pulls her cardigan around her tightly, fingers trembling on the edge of the soft cotton. 

She wants to go to sleep. 

\- 

Natasha doesn’t breakfast or lunch for the next week. Or month. Or five years. 

She was thirteen, standing in a circle around the two girls. They bounced on the balls of their feet, lunging at each other. One of the girls snapped her foot up, catching the other right in the nose. The sickening snap of bone would have nauseated Natasha if she wasn't so used to it. Blood poured out onto the tile floor, mixing and blending in with the stains that had been there for longer than Natasha. The girl put the other into a headlock, hand pressed tight over the other’s bloody nose. She looked up at Mistress, waiting for her. The Mistress nodded. 

Natasha stared as the_ crack_ of vertebrae rang through the air. A body hit the floor, twitching once, twice, then falling limp. 

“Natalia and Svetlana,” Mistress motioned to the middle of the room, the body that was previously sitting there disposed. “You are up next.” 

Natasha walked to the center, shoulders back and stomach in (not that she has a stomach, plenty of ab workouts are still doable even while handcuffed to a bed). Svetlana stood opposite her, a sly smirk on her face. 

Natasha doesn’t remember a lot of the fight. She remembers the words sneered in her ears as she held Svetlana in a headlock, punches to the face and stomach. She’ll never be able to forget the feeling of Svetlana’s bones snapping beneath her arm, the disgusting _ crunch_ as Natasha twisted harder and harder. She can still remember the weight of Svetlana’s body in her arms, the heavy pull she felt. 

_ At least,_ she thought,_ when I’m killed, I won’t be this heavy. _

That was her first kill. 

How innocent she had been. 

\- 

Natasha fumbled with the tea bag once more, cold fingers gripping it. She couldn’t find the strength in herself to rip it open, just uselessly pawing at the perforated edges. She cries out in frustration, throwing the bag against the counter. 

She shivers, knees clicking together as her thighs stay miles apart. 

If only she was still as innocent. 

\- 

She was sixteen when she finally submitted. Sitting in the same polished dining hall (instead of 28 other girls around her, it was only her left; she was the strongest, or at least she was told), she pushed around her food with her fork. 12 green beans, ¼ cup mashed potatoes, and 50 grams of chicken. 

This time not an ounce of it touched her lips. 

“You’ve done good, Natalia,” Mistress said, eyeing her up and down. “You didn’t disappoint me.” Natasha just nodded, rolling the beans into the mashed potatoes to create a disgusting mixture. She stood up abruptly, pushing her plate away until it’s teetering on the edge of the table. She walked through the halls, feet light and graceful and not making a sound. 

Her head held high, she walked into the bedroom. A knock sounded through the room. 

“Natalia,” a man entered the room. “We have your first mission.” 

Natasha’s hands shook as she took the manilla folder from him, never making eye contact. 

The second he left the room she dropped to the ground, letting out a dry heave. 

All she wanted was to be innocent again. 

\- 

“Here,” Bucky’s warm hands come up behind Natasha, enclosing her in a wall of_ comfort _ and _ safety. _ He picks up the tea bag and rips the top off of it gently. He grabs a mug-one of the big, oversized ones- and pours the water in steadily, dropping the tea bag. He hands her the mug. 

“I’ve got you.” He pulls her tight to his chest, the hot mug of tea caught between them. He kisses the top of her hair. He lets go of her, holding her hand. “You’re going to be ok.” 

She wishes she could believe that, as the tea splashes over the sides of the mug, hitting her feet with dull thuds. 

But her hands haven’t stopped shaking in a long time. 

And she fears they never will.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments are valued so much fdjhks
> 
> if you need to talk to me, vent, or just need someone to be there for you, come talk to me on tumblr @anyabarnes. my inbox is literally ALWAYS open no matter what, so please, please, please come talk to me. i love each and every single one of you.
> 
> if you haven't already, eat a small snack. get up from your bed and take a lil walk around your house. get a glass of water, take a shower, change your bedsheets and wash your blankets. you deserve love and happiness. you matter.


End file.
